August 2020

15 Buckden Roundabout August 2020 African orphanage On my first visit, my accommodation was at my hosts ’ family home at the top of the mountain, about 400m above the lake. And the road up there would serve well for trials bike competi- tions. So after about an hour and a half of a very bumpy ride, which involved frequent dismounting as the rider couldn ’ t cope over the very rocky surface with a pillion passenger and his luggage, I finally arrived, tired, hungry and thirsty, at the location where I would spend the next two nights. Part 2: September: 2018 Initial Site Visit The final part of the journey to my hosts ’ accommodation at the top of the mountain was on the back of a small motor bike, and it was with a considerable sense of relief that we finally pulled into a wooded enclosure off the narrow track along the high plateau. What happened next I was not expecting. Sud- denly I was confronted with a group of about 8 people clap- ping and cheering my arrival. I have never experienced such a welcome any time in my life, and it was most humbling. So after getting off the bike, everybody had to be hugged, photo- graphs had to be taken, and then the family father said “ Now let us go inside to thank God for Keith ’ s safe arrival ”. This family group is part of a religious Christian society. The father is the local senior minister and his son Samwel, my host, is his deputy. They take their faith very seriously, and prayer is a constant feature of their daily lives. So we went inside the father ’ s hut, stood in a circle, and the father expressed their collective thanks to God for delivering me safely from a faraway land to their community. This took several minutes, and once again, humility was my main reac- tion. I took stock of my surroundings. The floor was dried mud. The walls were built from mud bricks, and the roof was corrugated steel sheeting. Furniture was rudimentary and basic, and the chickens wandered in and out at will. I wasn ’ t expecting 5 star luxury, but this was way down the ratings. I began to wonder about my sleeping arrangements. Would I be on a bed? Would there be a mosquito net? Is there a bathroom? I was soon to be informed. So after a refreshingly cool drink I was shown to my room. This was in Samwel ’ s hut that he shared with his wife and baby daughter. There was a bed. It had a mosquito net, and there was a small table and a plastic chair. There were no windows, and the only lighting was by hand torch. Water was in a plastic bottle on the table, and the toilet facilities were outside a short walk away. A small ramshackle structure provided the necessary privacy, and a little way from that another little structure was the wash room. This contained a jerry can of water, and a bowl situated on an old tree stump. Well, what more do you need? I freshened up, and made my way back to father ’ s hut, where I found a table had been set up with chairs around. The father (Peter) welcomed me and soon his two sons arrived. Culture shock! Men only at the table, and no evident sign of cutlery. But shortly Sam and Peter ’ s wives arrived, with bowls, soap, and jugs of warm water. And one by one we washed our hands with one of the wives holding the bowl in one hand, and pour- ing the clean water over our hands with the other. It ’ s a practi- cal ritual that enables everyone to be sure that all the others have clean hands. Which is very reassuring, considering what comes next. So then the food arrived. One dish of something like a risotto, but quite a lot for one person, and placed in front of me. But then I realised that apart from a plate of local bread, there was only this one dish on the table. Is this all for me? Clearly not, so I took a handful and then pushed the dish to the centre of the table. This seemed to be the right thing to do as the others then all dug in, using of course, God ’ s cutlery. And the meal was good. - Some chatting and then to bed. Next morning, a similar routine at the table and then, the main purpose of my trip, a visit to the site. (Continued from page 14) Water bus terminal at Luanda ferry Samwel ’ s family. My accommodation—through the trees To be continued next month